REKINDLED || Completed

4

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Four
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Dedicated to daisyhazie

"Stupid zipper!"

Asher growled under her breath, yanking at the stubborn metal track of her leather jacket. After several failed attempts, she huffed in frustration and gave up. Maybe wearing a crop top underneath wasn’t the smartest idea.

She vaulted over a half-wall, nearly losing her footing but catching herself just in time. A car hummed past, its headlights slicing through the dimly lit street. She flattened herself against the brick, heart hammering, breath held.

The vehicle rolled by without slowing.

She exhaled, a ragged, unsteady breath.

Dressed in deliberate black from head to toe, she was certain she blended into the night.

Or so she thought.

The moment the street fell silent again, she darted across the road and dropped to her knees outside the Yates Performance Center. This town, at least, had one thing going for it—it was old. The kind of place frozen in time, a quiet intersection between Nova Scotia and Quebec, despite sitting at the borders of Winnipeg.

Birchwood Bay had a way of keeping its secrets.

Out of habit, she clutched at her pockets, fingers brushing over the familiar shape of her inhaler.

Never forget it again.

The memory of nearly suffocating on her bedroom floor still clung to her like a second skin.

Determined not to waste any more time, Asher tugged on a pair of gloves and pulled a facemask over her nose. She adjusted her hood, ensuring not a single strand of hair peeked through.

She rummaged through her backpack, fishing out her supplies. She was running low. A mental note to stop by Wembee’s later that week lodged itself in her brain.

Then, finally, peace.

The moment her brush met the wall, the world melted away. The bristles swept across the cold brick, streaking it with red.

Asher inhaled deeply. This—this—was where she found clarity. Not in sleep. Not in daylight. Not even in coffee. Only here, in the silent conversation between her heart and the colors she spilled onto the wall.

She didn’t always start with a picture in mind. She let her hands move, let the paint speak for itself. Emotions were powerful things—more powerful than logic, more powerful than words.

And even though she had a tendency to zone out, she never forgot where she was.

Or what she was doing.

Vandalism.

A crime.

A crime she didn’t feel guilty for.

She had never cared about the legalities of it. Art belonged on walls, where people had  to see it. It didn’t belong in dusty sketchbooks, hidden away like shame.

A quick glance over her shoulder. Just in case.

The streets were dead. After midnight, Birchwood Bay curled into itself, silent and still. Yet, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe she was truly alone.

phoenix never got caught.

She thrived. She slipped through cracks. She left without a trace.

Tonight would be no different.

Or so she thought.

"So beautiful, yet so wrong..."

The voice cut through the night like a blade.

Deep. Smooth. Velvety.

Asher froze.

Her fingers went numb. The brush slipped from her grip, the bristles streaking across her work in an accidental smear.

She swallowed hard and turned her head.

A figure stood in the middle of the empty street.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Arms resting against the strap of a guitar slung over his back.

Head slightly tilted.

Watching.

Waiting.

A deer caught in headlights—that’s what she was.

How long had he been standing there?

"... Don't you think?"

His voice was calm. Too calm. It sent a shiver down her spine. And the accent—

English. Definitely English.

He hadn’t moved an inch, yet it felt like he was right there.

Not a cop.

But he caught her.

phoenix got caught.

"Vandalism is bad, you know."

She gulped.

Her body acted before her brain did. She snatched up her supplies, shoving them into her bag without care. The second the strap was over her shoulder, she bolted.

She ran.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t breathe.

When she finally risked a glance over her shoulder

He was still there.

Just staring.

She rounded the nearest corner, ducking into the shadows. Pressed herself against the brick, gasping for breath. Her hands shook as she fumbled for her inhaler. A puff. Then another.

Her heart still pounded.

What now?

He didn't know her. Not yet. And his accent—he had to be new in town.

That should have reassured her.

It didn’t.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to move. She didn’t run this time. Just walked. Fast.

A silent prayer lodged itself in her chest.

That tonight was the first and last.

That she would never see him again.

***

Author: I really don't know what this chapter feels like.

I need to keep this going and I hope I get to the end of it. Don't forget to vote, and if you didn't in the last chapter, this is a kind reminder to do so. Thank you!!!

Love,
Kairos.